


A few thoughts on...

by GarGoyl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Hate Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizaveta uses her 'fanfiction' blog to share a few thoughts on... something she is probably not supposed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**A few thoughts on...**

_Tsvetan Borisov – Bulgaria_

_Alin Vasile - Romania_

_Tino Vainamoinen – Finland_

* * *

 

 ‘Frying pan poetry’ is a blog Elizaveta runs together with Kiku, silently, secretly, it’s their absolute guilty pleasure and they don’t talk about it with anyone else. Many people in their classes follow the blog, posting mainly anon comments and questions, because the… subjects are rather delicate. But she knows they do, because she’s been carefully listening to rumors and whispers.

Elizaveta and Kiku both prodigiously write so-called ‘fanfiction’, only the characters are not some fictional heroes but rather people they know. People everyone knows, which is why the blog is so popular. The characters are (of course!) never explicitly named, but an agile mind can see identity in clever descriptions. And the actions plastically described are hanging somewhere between ‘could very well be true’ and ‘hell, they’re surely doing it’ - at least as far as rumors and whispers go, because Elizaveta and Kiku don’t really care about the truth. And if their work can feed the gossips, even better.

Neither the Hungarian nor her friend have ever written themselves into one of their _stories_ for obvious reasons – it’s much too personal and besides, it’s not like their readers don’t have a very strong suspicion about who is the provider of their favorite entertainment. And the brunette has never thought about using her blog and skill for other purposes than entertainment either, until one day when she’s had a bit too much _palinka_ and it occurs to her to try and see just how much power their rumors hold, see if she could use her words, for example, to make all hell break loose.

There is someone she hates and despises endlessly, openly and almost with a passion. They throw insults at each other at every turn and she finds it quite satisfying too. She’s never written anything about him and his alleged lover - because believe it or not she’s actually ‘fangirling’ about what she writes, the reason her stories are always so savory is that she pours actual emotion into them, so writing about _him_ in such a context (or in any context, for that matter) is normally unconceivable.

But last night, since she’d indulged herself a bit too much on the bottle she keeps hidden in a drawer, the brunette was getting some crazy ideas worth putting into words, so she did. She totally did. And _it_ has been uploaded in the blog’s document manager.

The literature analysis course is boring and much too quiet and Elizaveta’s finger is itching to press the ‘Post’ button and share her work with the world. And she should too, because Roderich’s been rather unpleasant lately and maybe his late night reads should provide an insight into what he’s missing, and because she’s heard that Tsvetan Borisov – the green-eyed Bulgarian with badass tattoos who has rudely rejected her advances in the first year – has once beaten an unfaithful lover to a pulp.

A grin creeps on Elizaveta’s face as she turns to look at the strawberry blond sitting in the back of the hall, taking notes, unsuspecting and totally unaware of what’s going to hit him. It’s probably going to hit her too, but she doesn’t care, right now she thinks it will be ‘like totally’ worth it. So she posts _it_ , and it’s not long before she hears the first muffled gasp.     

Elizaveta feigns indifference as her finger glides down the screen of her phone lazily, scrolling down the already piling comments and kudos. Her work is, as usual, a success. Kiku even wrote a lengthy comment – it’s anon but she knows it’s him – praising both the quality of the text and the bold choice of characters.  Mr. Vainamoinen keeps talking monotonously in front of the hall, but more and more people ignore him, checking their phones instead. Darn, she had no idea she had so many followers and the sudden discovery is rather scary.

The brunette looks over to Kiku, but the small Japanese is perfectly calm and unreadable, taking notes. However, the gentle and usually passive Finnish teacher has caught on that he’s ignored even more than usual and makes an unexpected move, snatching the phone of someone sitting in the front row.

“I see,” he says neutrally. “So this is the source of excitement, a short piece published on a… literary blog of sorts. Let’s read and analyze it together, shall we? I’m always curious as to what interests my students,” he adds with a small smile and Elizaveta’s blood freezes in her veins.

**_“A few thoughts on hate sex_ **

_-by_ fryingpangirl21

 _I hate him and I want him. Perhaps it’s one thing giving rise to the other, who knows? I don’t care. What he can give me, and I him, no one else can give either of us. It’s the danger, it’s the excitement, the plain_ wrongness _of what we’re doing. In the damnedest sin, in the most profound darkness, we belong to each other._

_It’s late afternoon as I walk through the empty hallway to his room, the apparently innocent hours of the day when I know for sure that he’s alone. His other is always out at this time, probably down at the gym, so I can have him all to myself._

_Our lips meet the very moment he opens the door and his scent fills my nostrils, something addictive and as feral as the sharp teeth digging into my bottom lip. I shouldn’t like this, he’s got nothing of my other’s sweet kisses, or of the way the other murmurs loving little nothings against my mouth between gentle touches. But I do._

_As the door is closed and locked, like one’s lips sealed over a dirty secret, I waste no time and hastily push him against the desk, making a pile of books collapse to the floor. He bites his own lip in anticipation, that sharp little tooth poking out enticingly as he does so. Slowly I lower myself on my knees, fingers caressing his sides until they’re low enough to hook into the waistband of his jeans while I pop his button open with my tongue and pull the zipper with my teeth._

_His light-colored bangs fall over widened eyes and he’s nearly holding his breath while I nip down his happy trail and I smile naughtily before delivering the slightest bite to his hardened flesh. I tease him with my tongue slowly, up and down, on the underside and over the tip, because I enjoy torturing him and because I know he can’t take it._

_Indeed, soon enough his fingers fist into my long hair which reminds him of hot chocolate and he pulls me up forcefully, painfully even, to press his mouth against mine and taste a bit of himself on my lips. The straps of my dress are clawed off my shoulders as he guides me blindly towards the messy bed and we tumble together, bouncing on the mattress._

_His fingers take the time to appreciate the smoothness of my pale skin as my legs wrap around his hips and the skirt is bunched up on my thighs. My own hands slip impatiently under the hem of his shirt, searching the soft skin under the fabric I want off of him so I can grip his bare shoulders and dig my nails in his back. Hungry lips nibble on my pulse point, then my collarbone and further down, teeth grazing my skin lightly as his torso is finally bare under my fingers, all mine to roam. We must be ever careful not to leave any marks, even as we’re burning with the want to scratch and tear, to etch ourselves into the other’s flesh for good._

_There’s a cheeky smile on his lips as he uses his teeth to tear the condom wrapper, ruby eyes boring into mine as I inhale sharply and shudder. I pull him down into a kiss as soon as he’s eased himself into me and bite his mouth as hard as I can, drawing blood off his chapped lip. Yes, he’s sticking to the no marks convention, but I can’t help breaking it every now and then. He’s mine to use for my guilty pleasure and I want him to keep it in mind._

_Our bodies move in sync, roughly, greedily and even through the lustful haze is frighteningly obvious how well we fit each other, my breast in the cup of his warm hand, my mouth on his, my legs around his waist, my fingers tangled in his strawberry blond hair. He knows my body instinctively, all the right buttons to push, in and out, each thrust and each stroke bringing me closer to the brink of absolute pleasure. And when I finally cry out my ecstasy his name is on my lips, shamelessly, and I don’t give a fuck who might hear me. He smiles smugly between pants as he hovers over me, leaning in to tug at my bottom lip with his teeth one last time. ‘Whore’ he calls me and I slap him across the face as hard as I can.”_

“Well…” the teacher says after finishing and drawing a purposefully deep breath. “Any thoughts on what we’ve just heard?”

Elizaveta turns her head slowly, slightly, as inconspicuously as she can, and looks towards the back, where Alin is sitting. Their eyes meet for a brief second, and then the Romanian looks down at his own phone and types something, biting his lower lip. Releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding, the brunette turns back and checks the comments section.

 _You WISH,_ fryingpangirl21 _:)_ _Also, Borisov doesn’t go to the gym in the afternoon… he goes every Saturday after six._

_-anon_

Indeed, all hell is about to break loose.

**THE END**

A/N – Bottom line let me know if you want a chapter 2 and I might consider it….


	2. Chapter 2

**_Continuation_ **

A/N – I so shouldn’t be writing this when I have a ton of other stuff to finish (at work and otherwise) but I can’t seem to help it. I also know this pairing is literally a blasphemy :))) but, like someone rightly pointed out, when it comes to this stuff, there’s nothing better than hate to fuel it. So here’s the second chapter you requested ;)

* * *

 

Elizaveta knows she shouldn’t be doing this. No way, just no fucking way. She doesn’t exactly know _why_ , either. Maybe she just wants to be a tease, or to cause trouble, and he’s the perfect one for it. And he did issue an invitation, however subtle and ‘anonymous’, so the Hungarian figures that it can be held against him in case of any occurring misunderstanding. She doesn’t know where Borisov stands in this – her previous crush hasn’t even spared her as much as a glance since the ‘story’ has been out, so maybe he doesn’t know about it, or doesn’t buy it, or he just doesn’t give a fuck.

Of course, the question she should be asking herself is whether this is really about old crushes or _new_ crushes. Truth be told, Alin _is_ attractive and she is by no means blind – which actually makes him all the more annoying and repelling in her eyes, and not just because she can’t find a means to offend him based on his looks. She has plenty of other stuff to insult him with and (oh dear Lord) she’s witty and resourceful enough, not to mention plenty willing, even if she gets it back more than a lot. 

And before the brunette can finish her rather overwhelming and confusing thoughts on what she’s actually doing right now, she finds herself standing in front of Alin’s dorm door. It’s Saturday, 6:30 p.m.

‘Maybe he’s not even here’ Elizaveta ponders and she only realizes that the message could have been a trap when her hand is already on the knob and the unlocked door has given in. The curtains are drawn in the main room and only a vague light is filtered through the dark fabric, but she can still see that it’s far tidier than she’d ever imagined Vasile’s place to be. Maybe Borisov sees to it…

The Hungarian advances into the room, curious, just throwing cautious glances around, but not daring to touch anything. Only she is in such a stupid daze that she doesn’t immediately realize that someone is actually at home.  There is a tell-tale sound of human activity, but she only registers it as her head turns abruptly to the left, where the bathroom door is open and revealing, and Elizaveta blinks, completely perplexed.   

Alin feels watched too, because a slight frown creeps onto his face as he straightens his back and drops the laundry he’d been washing (by hand, in the bathtub, oh God!), wiping his hands on the already damp undershirt. The brunette’s gaze takes in everything – his ruffled hair held back in a short ponytail, flushed cheeks, lean torso, baggy sweatpants hanging low on his hips, every single detail of his appearance down to the black, slightly chipped nail polish on the tips of his thin fingers.  

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, before the Romanian can even utter a very predictable ‘what the fuck’.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Sherlock?” comes the reply as soon as he recovers from shock enough to roll his eyes.

Elizaveta’s hand flies to her mouth as she hardly fights back a giggle, this really is the last thing she would have ever imagined Vasile doing, it’s absolutely hilarious and in the same time she’s always thought that men doing any kind of housework are a definite turn on. But that’s classified…

“Barbarian, this is the twenty-first century!” she replies, trying to keep her tone serious enough. “Haven’t you heard of washing machines?”

The strawberry blond sighs. “There is one in the common laundry room, but Borisov managed to break it so now we’re back to the Middle Ages. Any other questions, since you’re already here… uninvited and all?”

“ _Uninvited_?” Elizaveta steps closer and leans on the doorframe, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “Well, it is Saturday after six, isn’t it?”

Alin blinks, uncomprehending for a moment, then realization dawns on his face and he wipes his nose awkwardly. And have his cheeks gotten redder by any chance or she’s just imagining things?

“Did you… really write that stuff?”

 The Hungarian doesn’t answer, only raises her eyebrows along with the slightest shrug, which makes things pretty clear.

“Why?”

Elizaveta doesn’t know what to answer exactly, even if she wanted to she couldn’t. The only thing she can do is to take another step closer, almost invading his personal space. And right then a sound alerts them both of the front door opening and then being slammed shut, while someone whistles a silly tune softly, carelessly.

“Aah!” says Alin conclusively, eyes narrowing and teeth gritting as he looks past the brunette’s shoulder.

The Hungarian is about to let out a chuckle, before his arm shoots up past her and slams the bathroom door shut. She blinks and in the next moment the strawberry blond is right in front of her, his nose mere inches away from hers and his palm is still pressed on the hard wood, next to her head.    

“Alin? Are you in there?”  Tsvetan asks, and he sounds… impatient? Uncertain? Who knows…

“Yes,” his boyfriend replies dryly. “And now he needs to piss…” he whispers, before scrunching his face and squeezing his eyes shut.

 Elizaveta is about to burst into laughter – this is sooo good! – then she brusquely remembers seeing a baseball bat somewhere in the room. And Borisov happens to be known for his violent episodes. A cold shiver runs down her spine and she involuntarily pushes closer, her chest clad in a light tank top now pressed against the blond’s and the thought that their skin is only separated by a few layers of thin fabric draws a faint gasp from her lips.

“What are you doing in there?” the Bulgarian asks again. “Can I come in? I need to use the bathroom.”

The knob moves, digging painfully into Elizaveta’s back, but the Romanian doesn’t let it budge. “No, you can’t come in, use the common restrooms! But you _can_ fuck off and see that the washing machine gets fixed, because now I have to do all the fucking laundry by hand like a fucking maid! Including yours, you schmuck!” he shouts.

“But-… I can help you,” Borisov insists, only to have Alin turn the key in the lock.

“No, you can’t! I told you to fuck off, Tsvetan!”

There is an ominous silence on the other side of the door and the Hungarian looks up, trying to read Alin’s expression. Only he’s not looking at her, but rather down at her hands involuntarily resting on his waist. The ruby-red eyes then flick back to hers and she bites her upper lip, fighting to stifle a laugh at his expression.

“If you think this is funny, I will open the door right now and whatever happens, happens,” he whispers angrily. Then the Romanian’s face lights up suddenly and he grins widely. “Haaaahh I just had an idea… tehehe…”

His hand lowers towards the key but Elizaveta grips his wrist before he can touch it. “No! Alin, don’t!” she hisses, panicking. If he smirks like that it can’t be good.

“No?”

“I dare you!” she blurts out. “You invited me here, so put your money where your mouth is!”

Alin gasps comically. “Ooooooh, should _I_ put my money where my mouth is? Did _I_ write all those… scandalous things? Now, now, Lizzie, if there’s anyone who should-”

“You liked it.” There’s a challenge in her eyes and in the sudden smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, and the Hungarian decides to take a risk, slipping her free hand ever-so-slowly under the hem of the blond’s undershirt. She then stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips over his mouth without warning. The surge of adrenaline is dizzying, because she’s never as much as kissed anyone else aside from Roddy, and she doesn’t know what to expect. Clearly not for Alin to lean in and bite her bottom lip hard enough to hurt and bring out tears.

“What? Isn’t that what you wrote?” he answers her baffled and reproachful look.

Not that she’s expected anything _nice_ of him, after all… And it is what she wrote – hate sex, which is _anything_ but gentle, obviously - only things are quite different when you _write_ them, bites don’t actually hurt, hard surfaces don’t dig in your back and surely your heart doesn’t pound like mad in your chest. But the most painful part of all is that in real life she’s nowhere near as experienced as she’s written herself in that blasted fic.

“Uh… yes but, I like giving pain more than receiving it.”

“I’m sure you do.”

And now Elizaveta is in a pinch, not knowing what the hell to do. “Where’s Tsvetan?” she asks softly, pulling away and resisting the urge to hug herself.

“Stand aside.” Alin kneels down and carefully removes the key from its hole to peek. “Tch, he’s in bed, with his laptop.” He stands up again, poking his tongue on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “Kind of late to give him any explanations now, don’t you think? Pffft! I can’t believe I’m fucking stuck in the bathroom with you! I’m going to kill you, Héderváry, I want to… gah!” Alin plops on the edge of the bathtub, huffing as he runs a hand through disheveled bangs.

Well, good to know he wasn’t actually going to open the door in the first place. And Elizaveta has just decided she’s willing to risk another bite, or worse, so she peels away from the door and moves to straddle his lap shamelessly. After all, it can’t be so bad if she makes out with the person she hates, it doesn’t mean anything. 

The Romanian is taken by surprise by the whole thing and gasps, allowing her tongue to invade his mouth. Her arms rest around his neck and her thighs grip his – not only is it an uncomfortable position but she actually has some work to do before Alin eventually gives in and begins to kiss her back.

He’s not biting this time, but rather seems shy all the sudden and his body is tense under her touch. The brunette’s short denim skirt has ridden up pretty high on her bare thighs, exposing the pale, smooth skin, but she doesn’t care, all the more since Alin’s dainty fingers find their way there, in a soft caress, and suddenly she wants to explore more of him. She wants to lift his undershirt and pull it over his head, but she knows what it means when clothes start to come off – there’s no stopping from that point onwards.   

But would it be that bad? She would be cheating on Roddy, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him and Alin won’t tell anyone. That much she is sure of. Off goes the undershirt, then. Ruby-red eyes look up into hers questioningly, but Elizaveta whispers a silent ‘I’m good’ against his lips, gasping as the straps of her top and bra are pulled down in turn. Her hips roll against his with a sense of urgency now that Alin’s fingers are touching her in almost all the right places and God she needs to-

Only she pushes a bit too hard and the strawberry blond loses his balance, tumbling on his back in the bathtub, the Hungarian following suit as she slips further down over him. They both freeze for a second, waiting to see if the sudden loud splash and their more or less audible gasps have alerted Borisov as the already cold, detergent-filled water seeps through the remainder of their clothing. But nothing happens and they soon resume their ministrations, Alin’s fingers playfully tangling in the now wet tips of her hair. The soaked clothes are hurriedly disposed of and mingle with the rest of the laundry and Elizaveta settles in the blond’s lap, shivering on the outside and burning on the inside.

Their bodies do fit one another just like she’d imagined, even though they’re not accustomed with each other and pleasure takes her fully with every move, dark and sinful – perhaps the wrongness and the danger indeed do the trick as advertised, along with a skillful hand rubbing the sweet spot between her legs just right – it’s so good she would scream if she could and when it is over she is left shaking, curling up helplessly in Alin’s arms and still silently chanting his name with lips pressed against his throat.

* * *

 

“Well, that was interesting…” the brunette concludes, choosing to momentarily ignore the fact that she’s only wrapped in a towel and has no clothes left to wear, plus still zero chances of getting out of Vasile’s room without being caught by his boyfriend.

“Mhmmm…”

“And now what?”

“Stay here.” With that in the blink of an eye Alin is out the door, shutting it quickly in his wake, and she hears him rummaging through the room. Or something. “What the hell are you doing in there? Have you finished?” Tsvetan asks and something is muttered in reply, then the strawberry blond returns with a new pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Kindly accept these,” he says courteously, with a wide grin.

The Hungarian slips the clothes on quickly – they have Alin’s scent so she will probably ‘forget’ to return them indefinitely – and smiles victoriously. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I won this little game. And now if you’re not a good boy I might put up a little tale about you getting it on with a hot chick among Borisov’s _knickers_.” And truthfully, she has seen a pair of something with the Bulgarian flag afloat in the pile.

“Right. And I was _almost_ tempted to play it nicely this time,” the Romanian says and bursts into laughter. Then he moves to open the door without warning.

Elizaveta freezes, meeting the blank stare of Tsvetan Borisov, who is still sitting on the bed with the laptop in his lap. Drawing a shaky breath, she mentally calculates whether she would have enough time to reach the door and dart out before the Bulgarian can stand up and grab his baseball bat. But his dark green orbs only widen in surprise for a moment, before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“So this was why I couldn’t take a decent piss,” he observes bluntly. “Maybe I should tweet this?”

“No!” the brunette yelps. “What the hell is going on?!”

Alin sighs. “Lizzie, Tsvetan is just my roommate, not my boyfriend. I don’t really know what made you believe otherwise…” he says innocently.

She wants to strangle him right now. “ _You_ made me believe otherwise! You told me when he’s going out! And _you_ made it look like he was going to kill us both if he found out I was here! Did you do that just to scare me?!”

“Hello, this is Alin Vasile, have you met him?” Tsvetan says ironically, with an amused snort.

“YOU FUCKING PRICK!”

But the Romanian wraps his arms around her from behind and nuzzles her neck, still chuckling softly. And Elizaveta can’t help melting into his touch, because… well… he does have some skills in that department. She’ll give him that. Reluctantly, but she will.

“I promise not to tell anyone,” Alin whispers, nipping at her earlobe, and the brunette doesn’t need to see his hands to know that his fingers are crossed. Who knows, maybe he won’t tell this time. She’s not so sure about _next time_ , though.

**THE END**


End file.
